


the algebra of unknown stars

by BloodyMary



Series: Forbears of what will be [9]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Dawn of the Jedi (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Lost Family Found, rakata continue being terible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyMary/pseuds/BloodyMary
Summary: Xesh tries to find out what is happening on his homeworld. Given that it's Corellia, he's in for a surprise.
Series: Forbears of what will be [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/637034
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

Purrgil weren’t exactly a common sight in the Correllian system, but they were known to the natives and the rakata alike. So, when a group appeared at the edge, no one paid them any particular mind. They left moments later, after all.

No one noticed that a small, light craft detached itself from between the matriarch’s tentacles. It sailed silently through the system, engines cold, using only the gravitational forces of the planets to angle itself towards its goal.

Finally, after about a day, it entered the atmosphere of Corellia, sneaking past the planetary security satellites. For a brief moment, it burned in the atmosphere, like any comet might, before resuming its flight with one controlled burst of its engines.

The pilot guided it to the ground slowly, picking a clearing in a forest as their landing site. With a hiss of pneumatics, the landing ramp extended itself and an armoured figure stepped down. The armour bore some similarity to that of a Force Hound—perhaps as if it’d been repurposed—but the helmet was a smooth oval with two eye-slits, painted with stylized flames. Red and golden flame patterns extended over the breastplate, while the rest of the leather undersuit, greaves and gauntlets was a pale grey. 

Armoured though they were, the figure was slight—short and petite, but their movements were confident like those of a hunter.

Behind them, another person descended the ramp. Unlike the first, the man wore no armour, only brown robes. His face was shadowed by a hood, though a hint of dark skin and black tattoos could be glimpsed on occasion.

Finally, a man and a woman stepped out. The woman was a tall Dathomirian, dressed in sensible dark grey pants and shirt, while the man was human and wore repainted Force Hound armour—glossy black with subdued blue geometric patterns, almost like stylized horns, on his chest, shoulders, and knees. Unlike the first armoured figure, he had no helmet, leaving his head exposed. His pale-blue eyes darted over the trees and bushes, his golden-skinned features focused.

“I think I sense someone familiar,” he eventually said.

“Which way?” the first armoured figure asked. Their voice was high and almost girlish.

“Perhaps we should be more cautious,” the hooded man offered. “Familiar could mean a lot of things.”

“Yes, like being shot on sight,” the human man said dryly. Then he seemed to consider what he just said, and added, “I mean, I could be sensing someone who'd shoot us on sight.”

The Dathomirian had already slid between the trees and motioned for the rest to follow.

* * *

Amaya had sensed _something_ just as they neared the entrance to the tunnels. Had someone followed her? She had been quite certain none of the rakatan loyalists had spotted her, but she was equally certain she’d sensed something. Something familiar. She had a nagging feeling that she should know who it was, but nevertheless just couldn’t place.

She rested her hand over her blaster, ready to draw it at any moment—the ‘saber would be a last resort.

She reached out with the Force, looking for the presence again, and then she sensed a flash of shock. It disappeared a moment later, but it was enough for her to pin-point the location it was coming from.

Amaya turned in the direction, aiming the blaster in a fluid motion, only to freeze solid. The person she’d aimed at was similarly frozen, eyes wide—eyes that were the same pale blue as hers. In fact, all of the man’s features looked familiar—she saw most of them in the mirror.

“Tamid?” she asked, disbelieving.

Now that the first shock was passing, she noticed two scars crossing next to his eye, and the fact that the chest plate of his armour seemed to be cannibalized Force Hound armour.

“Could you maybe point the blaster at something else? Preferably not another person?” he asked. “It might strike you as irrational, but blasters aimed at my face make me a little bit nervous.”

“Sorry,” she said, letting her arm fall. “I tend to do that when people sneak up on me.”

“That’s reasonable,” he said. He seemed to want to say something, but hesitated. “A-are you- are you my sister?”

Amaya found herself blinking away tears, unable to say anything but "Tamid", but it proved to be enough of an answer for him. Suddenly, she found herself in a tight embrace and heard slightly indistinct “You’re alive.”

For a moment, it was just the two of them—her and her lost baby brother. But slowly, she realized, she had questions—so many of them that she wasn’t sure where she should start. She pulled away slightly to get another look at Tamid.

“How- Where have you been? What happened to you?” she asked.

“That’s- that’s complicated,” he said, reaching up to his face, only to give the gauntlet on his hand an annoyed look. “I think I can explain, if you have time.”

“So, maybe you should start by introducing us?” another person said—their voice was high and almost girlish, with a Dathomirian accent. When Amaya looked towards them, she saw a short armoured figure and wasn’t at all surprised to sense that they were Force sensitive too—no one else would have painted their armour like that.

And then she realized that it might not have been the case at all, given that the person wasn’t Corellian and might not realize the significance.

Then, she noticed two other people: a dathomirian woman, her hair bound in a tiny braids and a dark-skinned man with horns like those of a dathomirian, but clearly had a human skin-tone.

“So, this is Vev, and she saved me when I was a child,” Tamid said, indicating the armoured figure. “You could take the helmet off, you know?” he added in their direction.

The figure huffed, but complied, revealing a tattooed face—in fact, the tattoo was exactly the same as the pattern on their helmet.

“And this is Shae, and this is Ters Sendon,” Tamid continued. He glanced towards Shae, who in turn looked to Ters Sendon.

“We can go back to our ship and explain,” the man said—he had a deep, pleasant voice.

“Or we could go back to our ship, and she can explain why she's running around alive, which is not exactly common for non-Force Hound Force sensitives in the Infinite Empire,” Vev said. “I mean, it’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

Amaya looked at the woman again thoughtfully. It was a pretty shrewd question, one that definitely made sense to ask, but while Amaya was prepared to trust her little brother, she wasn’t sure about the people with him at all.

“And how would you know this?” Amaya asked. “And aren’t you a non-Force Hound Force sensitive yourself?”

“I know exactly what I want to know about myself,” Vev replied, crossing her arms over chest.

“So do I,” Amaya replied stubbornly. She caught Tamid running his hand over his face then.

“Fine, we're doing this here, then,” he said, stepping between her and Vev. “Vev knows because she was a Force Hound, and so was I.”

Amaya blinked and almost instinctively reached out with the Force to them, but didn’t sense any trace of the specific bond that a Force Hound would have to a rakata. She did sense that both of them were tense, though.

She could have handled it better, she realized. “I’m sorry. They assumed I was killed during the invasion, and by the time they found it wasn’t the case… Well, that’s a long story too, and we really shouldn’t be discussing it in the open. Follow me—I’ll get you to a safe, neutral spot and then we can exchange stories.”

* * *

Tamid wasn’t really certain how he felt, but he was at least pretty sure that no one expected him to have any idea about that yet. He _was_ happy, but—well there it was, the insidious “happy, but…” which had apparently decided to be the new bane of his existence. Which, to be fair, was much nicer than being a Force Hound, which in itself was the kind of faint praise that was kind of insulting.

Back to the point—he was also worried. Worried that he’d turn out not to be what Amaya expected, worried that she’d be disappointed in him, and a lot of other things. Not that it helped much. He took a breath and let it out, accepting the feelings, complicated as they’d become. They were there now, but they’d pass. That much he’d learned.

Then, Amaya stopped. “Here,” she said, as she tapped against what appeared a sheer wall. At first nothing happened, until finally, she seemed to find a location, and there was a groan. A moment later, a part of the wall slid back, revealing a room with what seemed to be supplies.

It took them a moment to find places to sit down, but eventually they managed. Vev had placed herself near the entrance, with Amaya opposite her. Ters was sitting next to Vev, and Tamid and Shae were facing them all.

“I’ll start,” Tamid said firmly, in case either Vev or Amaya felt like insisting someone else ought to. “I was a Force Hound for predor Tul’kar, who apparently thought it was a good idea to have children with a Dictator’s wife.” He paused, and then added, “It wasn’t.”

Shae snorted then, but waved with her hand for him to continue.

“Which ended up with us being sent to scout a potential conquest,” Tamid said. “Which apparently was too complicated for Tul’kar—not that anyone other than him would complain about it, but he’s dead, so he doesn’t get a say.”

Amaya blinked. “The people on the planet killed him and spared you?”

“No, I killed him, and then the ship crashed, which ended up with me having a concussion, so I don’t remember what exactly happened,” Tamid replied. “But Shae found me, so nothing ate me.”

“You mentioned that Vev, wasn’t it?” Amaya said, indicating Vev, “saved you too?”

“That was a lot earlier,” Tamid replied. He put his hand over his wrist, fingers curling around it—tightly enough for him to feel it, but not enough to cause pain. It was just an unpleasant memory, nothing more—it couldn’t hurt him anymore, even if remembering it was unpleasant. “A… I’m not sure how long, but not long after I was taken away. One of the older slaves in our br- group wanted to supplement his diet, and apparently he thought little humans tasted nice? Vev killed him before he could do it, though, so I guess he never found out.”

“That… must have been very unfortunate for him,” Amaya said after a moment.

“He couldn’t live with that,” Vev said with a grin.

Amaya gave her a surprised look, before smiling cautiously. “I suppose it’s my turn?” she said. “Like I said—I was wounded in the invasion,” she continued, arching her neck slightly and indicating a scar on her throat. “And presumed dead. But I hid with our mother in those tunnels—along with other people who weren't about to give up fighting the rakata. And we didn't.”

Tamid was aware that not all conquests were peaceful, once conquered. In fact, all the ones that had supposedly integrated into the empire without much fuss had been the ones where no one remembered the conquest anymore. Which, once one thought about it, sounded a little bit suspicious.

“And we’ve recently killed the dictator,” Amaya continued.

 _That_ was not part of the usual narrative, though.


	2. Where Even Tookas Wear Utility Vests

Iron-Eyes could sense the tension in the room. He had confirmed to Alia that the newcomers had told her the truth, and they seemed to be understanding about the additional security measure, but nevertheless, it was something of a rocky start.

He also had to wonder if the newcomers—the ones who'd supposedly been Force Hounds, too—were evaluating him for the threat he posed, just like he had them. Tamid was bigger, and therefore had greater reach, and he held his hand near his ‘saber. Vev moved with the kind of grace that was typical for agile fighters—she’d be at a disadvantage in a small room.

They were both scanning the emotions of those gathered in the room, too. Which meant Iron-eyes had to stay on guard, lest he slip up and-

And what? Neither of them _wanted_ or intended to attack anyone. They didn’t seem to bear him any ill will, and therefore they wouldn't use his unease or uncertainty against him, as unrealistic as it still sounded to him.

“We could help,” the woman named Shae said. She seemed to be a trained fighter, too, though she didn’t appear to be as guarded as Tamid or Vev.

Alia looked thoughtful at that. “Your aid would certainly be welcome,” she said. “But I will need to know what you can offer to us.”

“A number of things,” Shae replied. “Rangers like me deal with peace-keeping in our system. Ters was also one.”

“I can help with crops,” Tamid said.

Alia seemed to find that as much of a non-sequitur as Iron-Eyes did. “I’m sorry?”

“I can accelerate how quickly plants grow, and you’ve people to feed,” Tamid replied. “I can do Force Hound stuff too, but from what you’ve told us, you’ve the rakatan loyalists mostly contained, so that’s not going to be that useful.”

Iron-Eyes wasn’t sure how he felt about that statement. On the one hand, a part of him felt dismissed—he wasn’t even a particularly good Force Hound, and here was a superior one saying that the skills they had were less valuable than growing food. On the other hand, he _had a point_.

Everyone had to eat.

* * *

Tamid’s main impression of Corellians so far were “utility vests” and “jackets”. At one point he spotted a tooka, and it wore a vest too. He thought it summed up the whole place pretty well. Then, he noticed he didn’t sound very different from the people around him—they all shared his accent. It hadn’t really consciously bothered him, but belonging in some way, having something that marked him as a part of a community from the start, was nice.

The local former Force Hound—a human man who was apparently called Iron-Eyes—made himself scarce as soon as the resistance leader told him they were done for now. Tamid supposed that was fair enough—talking with people one didn’t know very well could be rather complicated, and there were four of them, each with their own ideas on how to hold a conversation.

Who knew what would happen if Ters decided it was time to be terminally nice and compassionate at this Iron-Eyes?

In any case, Tamid had other matters to concern himself with.

“Amaya?” he asked. “You mentioned our mother. Where is she?”

His sister flinched, her hand going automatically to one of the pockets in her vest. He sensed pain and sadness from her, and even before she met his eyes again, he could guess what had happened.

“She’s dead,” Amaya replied. “She died when we attacked Illai’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” Tamid said. He wished he could offer more, but he barely remembered his mother—the only thing he could grieve was that he’d never meet her again.

“We had enough of her hair to make a diamond,” Amaya said. Tamid decided to patiently wait for the moment when this would start making sense, rather than interrupting her and telling her that he had no clue how the two were related at all. “You could meditate with it for a while-“ She paused, and seemed to catch his nonplussed expression. “I’m sorry. You were too small to remember any of this, weren’t you? Come with me, I’ll explain.”

* * *

Amaya had known that Tamid would have a lot to catch up on, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that some of it would be the fundamentals. Not that he had anyone around to learn from, of course. She probably shouldn’t have assumed it’d be obvious.

“When a person dies, their spirit joins the Force and becomes one with it,” she said. “Their essence changes the nature of the Force—we can draw upon their will and wisdom that way. And so, we burn their body and transform it into a diamond, so that their passing from one state to the other is easier.”

Tamid sat listening—he hadn’t made any comments so far, so Amaya continued. “Usually, we’d add it to a family altar—they’d stay there unless you want to call upon a particular ancestor, then you could remove their diamond and wear it for the occasion.”

“Can I see her diamond?” Tamid asked.

“Of course,” Amaya replied, reaching into her pocket. She handed him the diamond, light catching on its facets as he picked it up.

He held it for a moment, watching it intently.

“I… don’t know if I feel anything,” he said eventually. “I want to, so it could be just that.”

“Usually, we focus on the light as it's reflected from the diamond,” Amaya explained. “You don’t usually sense anything specific, though. The Force doesn’t work that way. It will touch you when it chooses to, not when you want it to.”

That earned her a wry smile. “And here I thought I’d get preferential treatment,” Tamid said. “What should I do?”

“Keep it for now,” Amaya replied. “I’ll fetch a lamp, and then we can meditate together.”

* * *

Kha’vir was quite used to being the local oddity and so maintained a peaceful spirit when the newest expedition arrived to learn that she was actually not bent on conquest. It was a valid assumption, after all, given that even she had trouble with coming up with other rakata who wouldn’t be trying to conquer or backstab their way back to rakatan society.

“You’re from an unconquered system?” she asked.

“They are,” the shorter dathomirian woman replied. She was dressed in white armour with flames painted on it, and her hair was done into dreadlocks. The taller one wore dark grey and had more traditionally dathomirian facial tattoos.

The man was the one who stood out—the horns looked like the ones dathomirian men had, but his colouring was closer to human. And he had absolutely straight hair—it seemed to be identical to Amaya’s, which meant humans would be envious about it.

“I used to be a Force Hound,” the short dathomirian continued.

“But you’re no longer one,” Kha’vir replied. That was likely going to be the thorny part of the conversation.

“No,” the woman answered. “My name is Vev. This is Shae Koda and Ters Sendon.”

“And I am Kha’vir,” which they had likely been informed of, but it wasn’t a good reason to be impolite.

“That guy called you Vivi,” Vev said. “That doesn’t sound very rakatan.”

“I’ve been told I’m not a particularly good rakata,” Kha’vir replied with a shrug. “Which we’ve hopefully established by now. I could try demonstrating, but I’m afraid children cry when they see me, so I can’t really hug any.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of other ways you can demonstrate it,” Shae Koda said with a wry smile. “Abstaining from grand speeches on your superiority, not killing anyone, that sort of thing?”

“I think I can easily manage both of these,” Kha’vir replied. “Now, with Amaya occupied, I’m responsible for our Force sensitive people. And since you are Force sensitive, that means it’s up to me to find something for all of you to do.”

* * *

Ters wasn’t a healer, but he knew enough to ease suffering, and there was plenty of that to keep him occupied through their stay. As trite as it sounded, violence always led to suffering, even if it was necessary. Perhaps, if they’d arrived earlier, he could have done more for some of the wounded.

But speculation like this was pointless—the past was over and couldn’t be changed. The future was unknown. Only the present could be affected, and so he sat next to a comatose woman and closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing to match her labored breath and reached out with the Force to her.

First her brain to assess the damage, and the possibility of her ever waking up. Then further, to see what else needed strengthening for her to heal. It took him a moment to sense what he needed to do, but fortunately, there was a chance the woman would heal. So, he helped, giving her body the strength it needed to heal.

He couldn’t do much with her brain, though; there’d be some lasting damage.

All he could do is move onto the next person, and help them fight off the infection in their lungs. And then move on to the next person, and the next.

He’d be back tomorrow—there was only so much he could do, but at least the most severe cases were on the mend when he left the infirmary.

* * *

Vev had to discard her armour for something less conspicuous. She wasn’t entirely pleased with the development, but on the other hand the natives were acting a bit weird around her for some reason. She’d have to ask what it was about.

Fortunately, she had taken less noticeable clothes, given that she’d known they might need to eventually sneak. They were dark grey, like Shae’s, and covered her almost completely.

“So, how do we do this?” Vev asked Shae. The Tythonian was next to her, and was tying the mass of tiny braids back into one ponytail. “Because aside from being sent to your system, I haven't actually done any scouting since Tul’kar gave me to Skal’nas.”

Shae smiled at her, as she finished securing a band around her braids. “And I have to explain that without falling back on animal observation methodology. Well then—do you know how to skulk? Step one—don’t, it’s obvious.”

Vev sighed somewhat theatrically. “What is it with Tamid and liking people who think they're comedians?”

“He has a sense of humour,” Shae replied with a grin and elbowed her gently in the upper arm. “Look, you will pick it up easily enough—we’re looking for signs that someone moved through the area, possibly stayed there for the night.”

“That sounds straightforward,” Vev said suspiciously. Nothing was ever straightforward. “Where’s the catch?”

“The catch is that you will need to learn how to tell it wasn't the local animals,” Shae replied. She was now checking the contents of her backpack, discarding some things and trading them for others.

“Isn’t that why you’re around?” Vev answered. She did wonder a moment later if that wasn’t too sharp a reply—she didn’t want to insult Shae and make her think that she saw her as some sort of one-trick pony.

“One of the reasons, yes,” Shae replied. Her grin didn’t falter, keeping its wry quality all the time. “The other one is that I was asked nicely.”

“That’s some magic trick,” Vev said unable to hold a smile back. “You ask nicely, and I don’t feel resentful for doing stuff for you.”

“Welcome to a society made of mostly not jerks, rather than a society of evil conquerors,” Shae answered with a grin.

* * *

Working with Azhdaha was different than working with any other Force Hound Enea had known before. She did suspect that it was because they were both no longer Force Hounds, and that somehow had changed everything, including how the universe worked.

Or maybe it had never worked the way she thought it did? Ever since Kha’vir had taught her how acknowledging her feelings made them quieter and less overwhelming, she'd had this thought that perhaps nothing had ever been as simple as she’d believed it to be.

It was a terrifying thought. But she had faced her fears once, and rejected their control over her. She was going to do it again, and again, and again.

Though she hoped it’d eventually take.

“Careful now,” Azhdaha said. “We need to lift that and move it over there, so people can safely remove the remaining wreckage.”

The place they were working at used to be the rakatan funerary temple. Now, it was a ruin. And soon enough it’d be even less.

To be fair, it had been kind of an eyesore even before it had been blown up.

Enea took a deep breath, and let her thoughts focus on the task at hand, instead of scattering all over her head. She felt the large concrete slab and Azhdaha’s will coiling around it. She added her own, and together, they raised it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they moved it to the ground, where it could lie flat and not threaten anyone by sliding down or breaking. Enea let her hand fall and exhaled. She felt slightly giddy, as if she'd run a long time or had been lifting and carrying something very heavy for a while now.

Which she had, but with her mind. And the Force.

“Can we take a break now?” she asked, as she sat down on the ground. It was not particularly comfortable, but it beat standing at the moment.

Azhdaha stretched her arms—and she had quite a lot of arm to stretch—before saying, “Yes. We can take a break.”

She sat down next to Enea, and together they watched others work to clear the rubble. Enea was aware that soon enough they’d have to rejoin them—there was bound to be more unsafe debris. Not long ago, doing all of this would have felt insulting, but it was no longer the case.

It was quite nice, being useful, and doing something safe. Well, safer than fighting. The concrete and other building things weren’t actively trying to kill her.


	3. Where Iron-Eyes Discovers the Daegen-Tamid Communication Style

The forest smelled slightly but unmistakably different than on Tython. If that had escaped Shae’s attention, than the calls of the various animals would have served well enough to remind her that she was no longer home. She didn’t recognize any of them.

It made her miss Feral or the winged rancor hatchling—well, by now, she’d no longer be a hatchling. It felt odd to be scouting without some sort of carnivore at her side, lending its sharp sense of smell and hearing to help her.

She made a cautious step forward, only to feel Vev’s small hand on her shoulder. She glanced to the side and saw the other woman shake her head. Slowly, she indicated to the right and mouthed, “We’ve company.”

Shae slowly turned to look in the direction Vev had indicated. At first, she only saw trees and bushes: deciduous, all of them, save for one type of conifer. Moss on the ground, between the fallen leaves. And then, further still, a tent.

It was pretty well hidden, given that it was brown and green, and covered with a camouflage net. But it was there. And someone had crawled outside. Someone rakatan. And there was likely to be more of them, given the size of the tent.

Shae nodded minutely towards Vev.

The rakata turned towards them, just as Vev dashed forward, Shae on her heels. Their mouth was just opening when Vev’s blue blade went through their chest.

Shae turned to the side, hacking the tent through the middle. Some of the fabric lit on fire as it fell over the inhabitants. There was a commotion inside, and yells of pain. Not exactly what Shae had expected—she hadn’t take the temperature of the lightsaber into account.

She hesitated.

Vev didn’t. She pushed the fabric down, pinning the rakata underneath and smothering the fire at the same time.

“Kill them,” she hissed. “Save one for questioning.”

Shae hesitated again—it didn’t seem right to kill someone defenseless. Then one of the figures managed to wrench the tent off, and Shae saw a blaster emerge. There was a flash, as it fired in Vev’s direction, and Shae only barely managed to deflect it in time. But Vev’s concentration was disrupted and two other rakata emerged—one holding an injured arm, the other with second degree burns on their face and chest.

They looked at them, and the one with the burns dropped their blaster. “We surrender,” they said in dathomirian. “Please, Sisters, we’re not with the traitor Kha’vir and her terrorists.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Vev said cheerfully. “We are.”

Shae wasn’t sure what the rakata said, but she suspected it was something impolite.

* * *

Alia saw no reason to disabuse the rakatan prisoners of their impression that Dathomir had risen against them. It was one crucial weakness of the Infinite Empire—from the top to the bottom, everyone was motivated by fear. And fear made for poor fuel for loyalty.

Alone, with no army to hide behind, the two captives were willing enough to cooperate. Or at least gave the appearance of willingness.

Alia didn’t make the mistake of trusting that. Fear made for a poor motivator. And so, Iron-Eyes was at her side again, silently listening to every answer.

“There are reinforcements coming,” the blue one said insistently. “You need to surrender now, before we glass your puny planet completely.”

“He’s lying,” Iron-Eyes said quietly in Basic.

“I don’t think you’re being truthful,” Alia said to the rakata. “I think there are no reinforcements. You can’t fix your transgalactic comms.”

The rakata glanced at each other, clearly uncertain what to say. “They will come, if we’re silent for too long,” the blue one eventually said.

Iron-Eyes shrugged. “Possible, but not certain. They could just decide that if Illai can’t deal with his mess, he doesn’t deserve help.”

Alia raised her eyebrow but didn’t comment on that. It seemed illogical, but she wasn’t about to complain that her enemies might not want to help each other.

“Or they will decide that you don’t deserve help—that you had all you needed to stop us and squandered your resources,” Alia said. “I’m afraid you’re nowhere near being in a position of power.”

“You won’t get us to talk that easily,” the second rakata said suddenly. Alia could tell as much. But that didn’t mean she’d just give up.

She turned to Iron-Eyes and said in Basic, “We’ll separate them. Maybe that will make them more cooperative.”

“You could just torture them,” he pointed out, his tone perfectly matter-of-fact.

“Then they will tell us what they think we want to hear,” she said. “The only thing that would give us would be the knowledge that they’re suffering, but that’s less important than the information they have.”

* * *

He’d known it. He’d known that torture didn’t really work—hadn’t he seen it enough times to realize how ineffective it was? And yet, he'd suggested it anyway. Not because he wanted the two rakata to provide answers. He just wanted them to suffer.

What was the use of finding out you’re not a useless waste of space, if it only turned out that you were the monster that you were told you should be all along?

“So, who died?” someone asked behind him. Iron-Eyes had noted the steps, so the presence behind him didn’t startle him badly enough to attack. He did whirl around and take an instinctive step back, and found himself facing Amaya’s long-lost younger brother. “Uh… I hope nobody did?”

It was disconcerting how similar the two looked—save the placement of scars: Tamid had several on his face, where Amaya only had one on her throat. But everything else? There was no mistaking they were related—they even had the same eerily pale blue eyes.

“No one,” Iron-Eyes replied quickly.

“Good to know,” Tamid said and made a kind of wry grimace. “Means I was only tactless, not… whatever the word for worse than tactless is.”

“It’s fine,” Iron-Eyes said, because that was what he was supposed to say, right?

“Right, and I’m a flying rancor,” Tamid snorted. “You feel like a thunder cloud that is about to dissolve in misery, while simultaneously marinating itself in guilt.”

Glorious. So not only was he some kind of monster, he was also being called out on a blatant lie. Which probably made him an idiot too, given that what kind of moron lies to another Force sensitive?

“Sorry, I think I’m getting this wrong,” Tamid said. “I’m not very good at having conversations with people who aren’t Shae, Daegen or Vev. And Garon and Ters, and Sek’nos, but they don’t count, because they could probably talk with a rock. I’m trying to ask what’s wrong and if I can maybe help.”

“You’ve a very odd way of doing that,” Iron-Eyes managed after a moment. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

“Try me?” Tamid said. “You’re a former Force Hound, and so am I. There’s a pretty solid chance whatever is bothering you is something I know. Like having a flashback in a middle of a room, and breaking every window and door with the Force—is that it?”

“No,” Iron-Eyes said. Well, what did he have to lose? Amaya already despised him, might as well make sure her brother does too. “The captives your friends brought. I want them to suffer.”

“That’s understandable,” Tamid said. He didn’t sound particularly horrified or disgusted. “Did you hurt them?”

“No, but I suggested it,” Iron-Eyes said. It was going to happen any minute now. He knew it.

“And now you’re feeling bad about it,” Tamid concluded. “So we don’t have to go into cycles of revenge and abuse—they’re not directly responsible for your suffering, so they’d only be a proxy for whoever it is you really are angry with. And they’re relatively low-ranking. And in the end, you will probably feel bad about making them suffer, because you’re not a monster.”

Iron-Eyes stared. “I’m not?”

“No,” Tamid said. “You did terrible things, though. And there’s no fixing them, because they’re in the past. Nothing, no matter how noble, will ever erase that. No amount of calling yourself a monster and wallowing in your own guilt will change it, either.”

“So what? I just… accept it?” Iron-Eyes asked, his voice breaking. He wasn’t going to start crying. He wasn’t.

“Yes,” Tamid replied. “You accept it. You accept that you did terrible things and there is no way for you to undo them. Because than you can focus on what matters—what is _now_. You can affect now.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Iron-Eyes said, shaking his head. “I can’t-“

“It’s not easy,” Tamid replied. “It’s simple. Those are not exactly the same. And yes, you can. You’re alive, aren’t you? You’ve the energy to argue with me, so you can do something more productive with it.”

“Like what? All I can do is sew, kill and make others suffer,” Iron-Eyes said.

“Amazing,” Tamid replied drily. “That’s three things you’ve mastered. You’re telling me you can’t learn anything else?” He sized him up. “You're going to help me with the garden. Grab a shovel.”

* * *

Iron-Eyes clearly didn’t have much experience with plants, given that he was eyeing the corn with the kind of suspicion that ought to be reserved for something with a lot of teeth and a tendency to eat human-sized creatures. Even Tythonian cereals didn’t do that— although, as Tamid had found out, there was a type of plant that did on Tython, because of course there was. Almost everything on the planet was either somehow deadly or very, _very_ good at running away.

Corellia was positively tame in comparison. Or would have been, if not for the ongoing civil war.

“Uh…” Iron-Eyes said, having come face to face with a compost heap. It wasn’t a particularly impressive one, given the dearth of products to make compost from, but Tamid supposed it was still somewhat intimidating if you’d never seen one in your life before.

“Plants need more than water to grow,” Tamid said patiently. “Mostly, they need dead, rotten things, preferably without heavy metals or radioactive compounds. You’ll stop smelling anything in a few minutes, if you don't take breaks to go breathe somewhere else.”

Iron-Eyes turned away from the compost heap and looked at Tamid’s feet. It seemed he was starting to suspect it was some sort of a joke at his expense.

“No, really,” Tamid added. “Now, come on. If you can kill someone and not throw up—which, by the way, is something not everyone can do—you can shovel compost.”

Clearly, his motivational skills could’ve use some honing, because it took Iron-Eyes another moment of staring before he finally got to work. Still, at least the moping stopped. Tamid had never expected to meet someone who'd raised moping to an art form, and yet, here he was—an unassuming man with unruly red hair and a presence that was a blackhole of misery.

Still, he couldn’t do much about that, other than redirect Iron-Eyes’ attention to something else. He _could_ do something with the corn.

It had taken practice, but by now he could easily sense the whole field—tell how healthy the plants were and how much time they needed to be ripe. And then speed things up, though that was limited by the amount of nourishment he had for them.

He could have reached deeper into the Force, taken the pure energy and fed it to the plants directly, but that came with a price. It’d come from something or someone. Maybe other plants, maybe small animals, maybe someone else or himself. It was not a risk he’d take.

But there was no reason to distract himself with possible scenarios. He needed to be in the here and now. Fortunately, he was much better at reaching the state of peace necessary for the task at hand now.

Breathing first—just registering each breath and how it felt to fill his lungs and breath out. Let the thoughts come and pass without holding onto them. Then reach out—feel that you are a part of that which surrounds you. Their life is the same as yours: fleeting, but luminous.

Plants couldn’t really understand anything, but it was hard to put the next part in any other words: show them that they can grow now, that they have what they need to reach their peak.

And then, he breathed again: in and out, as he opened his eyes.

“I-I couldn’t feel your emotions or thoughts at all,” Iron-Eyes said, looking at him with wide eyes.

Tamid nodded. He still remembered how uncanny it used to feel when he’d first come to Tython and found people could do just that.

“They’re still there,” he said. “But once you accept that they’re yours, but not _you_ , you can also do that. And yes, it’s another of those simple, not easy things.”

“That doesn’t- I mean, I don’t understand,” Iron-Eyes said.

Tamid guessed his first impulse had been to say ‘that doesn’t make sense’, which was probably fair enough. “Let’s try this,” he said. “You’re sometimes angry, right? When you stop being angry, do you stop being yourself?”

Iron-Eyes shook his head.

“So the trick is accepting that whatever is going on in your head _at the moment_ isn't the sum total of _you_ ,” he said. “It takes practice. I can’t do that when I’m in danger, for example. Shae and Ters can, but they’ve been practicing their whole lives.

“You can’t do some things with the Force, unless you learn how to do this, though,” he continued. “Like… the thing with plants? It’s a rare skill, and technically, I probably could have been doing it as a child—but it does require being at peace. So I couldn’t do it at all as a Force Hound.”

“Don’t you mind me knowing that?” Iron-Eyes asked. “That you can’t do something?”

That was familiar ground, thankfully. “No,” Tamid said. “Why should I? We’re on the same side. Besides, I can put the energy into worrying about what toothy horror Shae will befriend here.”

Iron-Eyes wasn’t really sure what he thought of Tamid, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Amaya’s brother was acting the way he was just to make sure Iron-Eyes couldn’t find his footing around him. It seemed no one had told him he needn't bother, or else he wouldn’t be trying to make Iron-Eyes believe a world which was that deadly was also heavily populated.

“How does that even work?” he said. “A creature can’t generate so much heat they set their surroundings on fire and live.”

“Once this is over, you can tell them in person,” Tamid replied dryly. “I’m sure they’ll listen to sense and fade from existence.”

Or perhaps, Iron-Eyes shouldn’t have been doubting someone he’d just met and have been assuming they were lying? He could at least put some effort into being as close to likeable as he could get, instead of being difficult, really.

“That was meant to be a joke,” Tamid said, after a moment. “The part about fading from existence, I mean.”

“I don’t think I’ve a sense of humour,” Iron-Eyes replied.

“How-“ Tamid said, but stopped whatever he was meaning to say. “Never mind. Let’s try something else. You’ve been on Corellia a lot longer than I have—what animals that can eat a human do they have here?”

“Well, some,” Iron-Eyes said. “My- I mean, Illai had a pet he kept in a pool in his throne room. It could eat a human in one bite.”

“Standard dictator’s throne room?” Tamid asked. Iron-Eyes nodded. “The poor thing. The pool must have been too small.” He then covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh no. It’s too late. I’m sounding like Shae.”

Iron-Eyes hadn’t really talked with this Shae, but nevertheless he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Maybe he did have a bit of a sense of humour after all.

* * *

Vev looked at the creature. The creature turned its head to the side, so that it could look back at her. Its tongue flopped out of its wide, toothy maw.

“Who hunts sweet things like you?” Shae Koda cooed. “Look at her adorable little face, Vev.”

Vev looked on. It… she supposed it was actually kind of cute, in a very grotesque way. It was wagging its short tail at her, too. She gingerly put her hand on the large head and carefully scratched the white skin.

The creature made a happy noise.

“It’s kind of cute,” she said eventually. “But why do you think anyone hunts them? I thought the locals said they were used for tracking?”

“Look at her head,” Shae replied. “She has eyes at the sides. It gives a wider field of vision, at the cost of depth perception and the ability to see what’s right in front of you. But these sweethearts make up for that with a great sense of smell, don’t you?”

She leaned down to scratch the creature under its chin, eliciting more happy noises. Happy, damp noises. Vev surreptitiously wiped her hand off on her pants.

“So, I will leave Slobber Monster to you, then,” Vev said. The creature turned to her then, wagging its tiny tail again. “Huh? What is it, girl?”

“It’s her name,” Shae said. “She’s reacting to it. Smart girl.”

Slobber Monster turned towards Shae then and sat down, her maw opened expectantly.

“Very smart,” Shae laughed. “Fine, one treat for you.”

Slobber Monster's hindquarters were now wholly engaged in wagging, not just the tail. Vev couldn’t stop herself from giggling at the sight.

“She’s so cute,” she said, just as Slobber Monster caught the treat with her maw and started chewing on it happily.

* * *

“There is only so much I can do without any equipment,” Ters said. “Or actual healers.”

Amaya looked around. She knew the sentiment—there was always more to be done, and never enough people who could do it. Especially not people like her, or the newcomers. Even with four of them, they’d be stretched thin.

“You’ve already helped us immensely,” she said.

“Kind words,” Ters replied. “But nevertheless, it’s not enough. But it’s all I can offer.” He looked at her for a moment, expression thoughtful. “I suspect you know the sentiment far better than I do.”

“There is only so much one person can do,” Amaya said, as she sat down next to him. “We all have to accept it.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t make it easy, does it?” Ters replied. Then paused and shook his head. “Forgive me. We don’t know each other at all, and here I am acting like I know your thoughts.”

Amaya shook her head. “It was kind of you,” she said. “And no, it doesn’t make it easy, but it’s the only constructive thing I can do. Otherwise, I’d either have to do nothing at all or run myself ragged, and in either case, I’d be of no help at all.”

She sighed softly. “But I sometimes do wish I could do more. That I could have protected Tamid when he was little, or that I could have saved… Well, there are a lot of people I wish I could have saved.”

“I’m sorry,” Ters said. “I will do as much as I can to help.”

Amaya couldn’t help but smile back at him then. “Thank you. That’s all I can ask of you.”


	4. Where Gardening Leads to Breakthroughs

The camp was as well-hidden as possible given its size. Which was not very. Despite its size, if Vev were to guess, she’d assume that it didn’t contain all the rakatan forces. But it was definitely large enough for them to be unable to see all of it from the perimeter, and that meant that most likely the command center was somewhere deeper in the camp.

Other than the sentries, he camp also had internal patrols. Troops in black uniforms marched between tents, occasionally stopping to investigate something. As far as Vev could tell, they were the most dense to the south— most likely, there was something important in that direction.

She didn’t count that many rakata among the soldiers. Small wonder—most of them would be officers, but that meant the army might be persuaded to defect. Or at least some of the soldiers. Or perhaps not. It was hard to tell without even hearing the soldiers’ gossip.

Perhaps they should have taken Tamid with them—he’d been to more military operations, he’d know if the layout was standard. Still, Vev was reasonably sure that she could make a sketch from memory once they got back.

The patrols around the perimeter were pretty regular and disciplined. Avoiding them was quite the nerve-wracking task—the rakatan loyalists were cautious and had patrols over their perimeter.

But then Vev hadn’t spent all of her time on Tython learning to dance, as pleasant as that was. Daegen Lok’s mind manipulation was easy enough if you knew yourself and knew what you wanted, she’d found. The guards, in turn, had been told what they wanted all their lives. She knew how it was to be one of them, how it eroded your will.

And that made it very easy to make them not notice her and Shae. They didn’t _really_ want to fight. So, they wouldn’t. They’d walk past the three of them, murmuring that everything was in order.

“This is more than a little creepy,” Shae said.

Vev shrugged. “It’s better than the alternative, isn’t it?”

Shae nodded. “I know, but it doesn’t mean it will ever stop feeling a bit creepy how their… minds just seem to turn off.”

Vev grimaced. She supposed it was rather creepy, but if it saved their hides, she’d take creepy any day. “Well, luckily, we can head back now. I think staying will make the risks outweigh the benefits.”

“Good point,” Shae replied. They started making their way out of the patrol zone cautiously, each covering the other as they left. Slobber Monster crawled next to them, equally cautious. Getting spotted now would be more of a problem, given that Vev needed to be close to be able to affect someone’s mind. They’d have to fight, and then hide a body, and eventually the rakatan loyalists would find out that one of their sentries had been killed anyway.

It took far too long, as far as Vev was concerned, for them to get out. But they did, and they did so safely.

“Well, then,” Shae said. “Let’s bring our intel back to the nice people waiting for it, shall we?”

* * *

The defectors’ camp was fairly orderly, as far as Cal could tell, though there were signs of waning discipline here and there. For one, one of the sentries had been dozing peacefully. Not the best choice for a military man, but then Cal had a sneaking suspicion that their dozing friend hadn’t even particularly wanted to be in the military.

In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that most of the people in the camp were reconsidering their career choices. Including the neckless fellow right in front of him, Qi’ra and Azhdaha.

He did have impressive musculature, but if Cal was to guess, he was going to say that Qi’ra was more of a fighter than the man in front of them.

It was a little bit disconcerting watching her eye someone twice her size like she was really evaluating getting into a fight with them.

“And why should we care?” the man grunted.

“Well, for one, you’ve defected,” Cal said reasonably. “That means you don’t have a cozy place to go back with the rakatan army, my friend, doesn’t it? And there are more of us locals than you, and not all of us are as friendly as I am. Isn’t it so, Qi’ra?”

“That,” the man growled indicating Azhdaha, “is no local.”

“And I am not a thing, Sergeant Tev,” Azhdaha replied. “As you should know.”

“You don’t scare me, Force Hound,” Tev said, and took a courageous step back.

“Perhaps not, but you do owe your life to me,” Azhdaha said.

Tev seemed to deflate then. “Yeah, look—this isn’t exactly- Those are mostly kids here,” he said. “Never seen a warzone. Bring ‘em into a fight and most of them’ll die.”

“Nobody said anything about warzones,” Cal said, as he found a convenient tent-pole to lean on nonchalantly. “We’ve got all sorts of jobs. And like I said—you want us locals to be friendly, if you’re planning to stay. And you don’t have much of a choice, do you?”

* * *

Watching Cal negotiate was something else entirely. None of the rakata Qi'ra had seen do it had flirted with their counterparts. Then again, none of them had been trying to strike a deal that’d be beneficial for both sides.

“We could use all sorts of trades,” Cal said. “Your troops will have to learn on the fly, though.”

“That is going to be a new one,” Tev said. Once he was no longer trying to intimidate them with his size, he seemed pleasant enough. Not good-looking by any stretch: even if he hadn’t lost a part of his nose at some point, he had the kind of face that would be most charitably called brick-like.

“Specialization is for insects,” Cal replied with a wry smile. “Hadn’t you heard?”

“I can’t say I have,” Tev said. “The common sentiment here is that you’ve one job, and you’d better do it well, or else.”

“Sounds dreadful, doesn’t it, Qi’ra?” Cal asked winking at her.

“I don’t know, I thought your one job is being decorative, and you’re doing it very well,” Qi’ra said. She couldn’t help but to smile back.

“Only decorative?” Cal asked, mock-disappointed. “You wound me.” He turned to a slightly baffled Tev and said, “I think I must try harder.”

“I think I’ve created a monster,” Qi’ra said to Azhdaha.

“I’m sure someone else would have motivated him if you weren’t there to do it,” the former Force Hound said. “He looks like the easily motivated sort.”

“In any case, perhaps we should stay on subject?” Cal said, as he turned to Tev with a grin. “So, what do you say?”

“You have a point,” Tev replied. “Working with you will help us, too. But I’ll be watching you. None of my troops are to be sent to fight. They’re too green for that.”

Cal, predictably, grinned at him then. “I hope you’ll enjoy the view, then.”

Qi’ra had to stifle a laugh. She really could have expected he’d say something like that.

* * *

Enea tapped her foot impatiently. She really didn’t see why she had to wait. But there she was, sitting obediently and trying to keep from fidgeting like a child. With Azhdaha gone to some mission, she was mostly confined—she probably should have asked to help with gardening, but Shen had beaten her to it, and no one wanted them to work together, because Shen was _stupid._

Well, she wasn’t going to have it. She wasn’t the one hiding in her room and moping. She was _doing_ stuff. So, she was going to help with gardening no matter what Shen or Iron-Eyes or whatever she was supposed to call him thought about it.

And so she emerged into the field, only to hear a sharp, “Careful there!”

She stopped in mid-step only to feel herself float up and a moment later found herself placed on the ground in front of a grumpier-looking, younger and male version of Amaya. Shen was standing behind him and looking smug.

“I’m here to help,” she said.

Amaya’s male copy blinked and seemed to brighten visibly. “You are?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Enjoy shoveling manure,” Shen muttered under his breath.

“I will,” Enea snapped. Really, what was his problem? And here he was taking a step back and acting all small and scared, but she’d had enough with that. It was all just a ruse to make people think he needed protecting from her, when he was older and had that horrible power, and _she wasn’t having any of that_. “Because unlike you, I actually know how to enjoy things.”

“Hey!” Amaya’s male copy snapped,. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but right now, it will be a lot more productive if you get to putting those bales into boxes there.”

He pointedly indicated a spot at a significant distance from Shen. Not that Enea minded. She did mind that the male clone of Amaya was listening to him, though. No doubt he was filling his head with lies about her.

Well, she’d make sure he heard her version too.

* * *

Tamid had not expected to find himself in a situation where he’d be the mature adult, but there it was. All of a sudden, he was in the company of two former Force Hounds, each convinced that the other was a terrible mean bully out to get them.

And he didn’t even need to talk with either of them to figure it out.

What talking with either uncovered was giving him a headache. Iron-Eyes was convinced that Enea was a liar and a traitor in the making, because at one point, just after running away, she had implied most Force Hounds deserved to be enslaved. Enea, in turn, was convinced Iron-Eyes was a liar and a danger to everyone else, and a sadist to boot.

It seemed like a minor miracle that neither had attacked the other so far. And now, Tamid would attempt to perform a major miracle and get them to tolerate each other. He was going to be lenient here and accept grudging tolerance.

“Right,” he said to Iron-Eyes, “I get it. _You_ would judge me as a liar, a potential traitor and a terrible person after I arrived on Tython, and would have never given me a second chance, because I didn’t know any better.”

Iron-Eyes gave him a panicked look, which seemed a bit of a strong reaction. And Tamid could sense the rise of the miserable cloud of misery about him again too.

“Let’s start over again,” he said. “You did a bad. That doesn’t make you bad. I don’t hate you. I’m mildly annoyed with both of you, which is going to pass when you both hopefully start behaving.”

“But she-“ Iron-Eyes started to say only to fall silent before even finish the thought.

“She’s terrified of you,” Tamid said. “And covering it up with bravado. I’m not asking you to be her friend, or forgive her for anything she did to upset you, but I’m asking you not to antagonize her.”

How did Daegen explain all of those things that now seemed so obvious and had been completely mystifying? But then, he’d said it himself—some things were simple, not easy. So, Daegen went with the pragmatic angle at first, showed how doing things differently actually worked better in the long run than what Tamid had been taught through being a rakatan slave.

“Even if it feels like she deserves it, it’s going to make you lose energy on watching your back around her, if you keep making her feel unsafe,” Tamid said. “Prove her wrong—show her that you’re not the monster she thinks you are and you’re afraid you might be—and you will have energy for other things.”

“You really don’t believe in doing things the easy way, do you?” Iron-Eyes asked.

“That’s not what my teacher says about how I make soup,” Tamid replied with a grin. “Now—go and pack everything up, and I will talk with Enea.”

How hard could it be to convince her to keep away from Iron-Eyes unless strictly necessary and call him by the name he preferred? It definitely couldn’t be harder than surviving to adulthood as a Force Hound, and he'd managed that. Including living through a ship crashing.

Then again, ships didn’t pout at him and expect him to treat them seriously while doing that.

“I’m going to tell you what I told him,” Tamid said. “You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to talk with him unless it’s absolutely necessary. But if you treat him civilly, it will work better for you in the long run, because he won’t want to retaliate.”

Enea looked at Shen doubtfully, before turning back to Tamid. “But he started it.”

“Yes, and I told him not to do it again,” Tamid replied. “I know it’s not easy—you were trained to react to any sign of threat with aggression, just like I was. And it’s sometimes hard to tell when the threat is there, when you’re used to it being all around you constantly.”

Enea kicked the dirt then sighed. “But what if he snaps one day? What if I say something stupid again, and he decides that he needs to punish me for that?”

“He didn’t do that when you said that he deserved the treatment he got from Corellia's dictator,” Tamid said. “You’d have to try pretty hard to top that, so you’re reasonably safe here.”

That seemed to be a convincing enough argument for Enea to nod grudgingly.

“Um… I should apologize for that, right?” she asked miserably.

Tamid nodded and stepped to the side to let her walk towards Iron-Eyes.

* * *

Iron-Eyes’s first impulse was to tell Enea to stuff her apology somewhere rude, but… She sounded sincere. She felt sincere. It was kind of weird, because a part of him still thought she had been right to think that of him and worse.

But once he decided to try and follow Tamid’s advice, he realized he had no idea how to reply. It wasn’t like what he’d seen before was in any way useful or reasonable, given that he’d mostly seen his former owner throw people into the pool to be eaten by his pet.

“I… appreciate it?” he eventually said, glancing at Tamid, who unfortunately didn’t seem to have any handy signs with what he should say.

“Um,” Enea said. “And sorry for not calling you Iron-Eyes. That was mean too. I won’t do it again.”

“Uh, I don’t remember you doing that,” he said.

“Yeah, but I did it in my head,” she said.

“Don’t… do it again?..” he hazarded.

Enea nodded, and looked at him expectantly, as if he somehow magically ought to have any clue what to do next. He looked to Tamid pleadingly.

“You could shake hands,” Tamid said. “Or you can stand awkwardly a few more seconds and then go back to what you were doing. Both work.”

Enea giggled. “I don’t know if you’re making fun of us now or not, but that was really funny.”

“If it helps you decide, I’d go with standing awkwardly,” Tamid said with a grin. “But your time is up. To work, both of you.”

Iron-Eyes managed not to flee towards the vegetables he was supposed to be packing, but it was a pretty close thing. He’d had enough interacting with anyone for a week. Or two. Still, he realized by now that he shouldn’t follow that impulse. As hard as interacting with other people was, it was always much harder to start over again if he hid for too long.

He could only hope that one day, he’d stop forgetting how to behave around other people.


	5. Where Force Hounds Continue With Self-Improvement

Tamid was not at all surprised to find Shae with something whose face seemed to consist mostly of mouth and teeth. That Vev would be the one with its muzzle in her lap was a bit of a surprise, though.

“She’s adorable,” Vev said sounding a little bit defensive. “And very friendly.”

“Yes, the drool is very adorable,” Tamid said, giving the creature a doubtful look.

“It’s no more disgusting than the stuff you use to make plants grow,” Vev countered. “In fact, it’s less disgusting.”

“And now you will tell me I should pet it and that I will like it,” Tamid said.

“No, _I_ will,” Shae laughed. “Come on, she won’t bite you.”

Tamid looked at the creature. It swiveled one eye-stalk in his direction and panted. What he sensed from it was friendly—there likely really was no risk. And it probably would be nice to say hello, if Shae and Vev had both adopted it.

“Hi there,” he said, reaching out to pet the animal’s smooth head. “What big teeth you have.”

The creature panted some more and licked his hand.

“And your slobber is too wet,” he grumbled. “You could learn to say hello in a different way. What about head-bumps? You won’t set me on fire doing that, so that should work perfectly.”

Vev giggled. “It’s really weird hearing you talk so much,” she said. “I mean, sometimes. Like now, because you’re not even talking to something that will understand you.”

“I’ve got words, now that you’re not using them up for both of us,” Tamid replied with a grin.

“Why do I like you again?” Vev asked, but she was smiling as well. “Now, stop teasing, and tell us how your day went.”

Tamid made a face then. “Apparently, two of the local former Force Hounds really don’t like each other, and they decided to dislike each other around me.”

“Which ones?” Vev asked. “What happened? Did you have to punch anyone or something?”

Shae looked up at the ceiling with an exasperated expression. “Of course he didn’t punch anyone—disliking someone is hardly grounds for punching.”

“Punching would have been easier, but then they’d just get into fights when I wasn’t around,” Tamid replied. “So I tried to explain to them that if they don’t get into fights with each other, then they don’t have to worry about the other person getting so upset with them that they’d end up hurting them.”

“That sounds quite sensible,” Shae said. “It ought to help for the time being—and the rest is more up to them than you.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can do something like that again,” Tamid replied. “I kept worrying I’d say the wrong thing, and screw them up even more than the rakata-“

“Yeah, that’s not possible,” Vev snorted. “The worst you can do is either confuse them or say something weird and make them angry.”

“I think I did confuse them a few times,” Tamid said.

“Daegen confused you a lot too, initially, didn't he?” Shae said. “And yet you like him a lot now. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, if it gets someone to reconsider some unhelpful preconceived notions they might have.”

* * *

Enea probably should have noticed that she was falling back on the exactly same old habits that’d made her so miserable with Shen. No, his name was Iron-Eyes, and she was going to let go of her resentment. What he did with that was on him, but she wasn’t going to slip back into making herself miserable and angry for no reason.

So, she found herself a nice calm spot and sat down.

She closed her eyes, and thought of Iron-Eyes. She let herself feel the anger over the stupid mumbling and the few comments she caught, and the dislike she’d thought was for no particular reason.

Those feelings came from her, but they weren’t _her_. They weren’t permanent, and they’d pass. She only needed to let them go.

And then, once she let them go now, she’d have to keep doing it, and keep doing it, until it stuck. Because as much as she’d like it to be different, aggression, anger, hate and all those miserable feelings were the habits of a lifetime.

But there was another thing she’d learned—and that was that giving up got you nowhere. So, she’d keep trying.

Besides, Kha’vir told her those things got easier with practice, and she’d know.

Enea opened her eyes again and stretched. All that meditating and looking for inner peace had made her hungry. She stood up and noted absentmindedly, that the legs of her trousers seemed shorter. Had she grown?

She must have had—she was still at an age when she’d be growing, she thought. She wasn’t entirely sure though. No one had told her when she’d stop, and it seemed to have been happening in spurts.

At least she was quite certain she had all her mature teeth. Apparently, humans grew the last batch as young adults, and it was painful. Some species were very impractically designed in places.

* * *

Iron-Eyes supposed it was too much to ask for him to make a good impression, just once. Then, he shook his head, trying to chase the thought away. It wasn’t a productive one. In fact, this type of thinking seemed to lead him directly to doing something he’d later feel bad about.

It had taken- No. He’d realized recently that it wasn't just that he was making himself miserable. He was also telling himself he could not make any progress. That he was unchangeable.

So, he needed to start over again.

He hadn’t made a bad impression, otherwise Tamid wouldn’t have asked him for company. That seemed at least a reasonable assumption. Things had gone wrong when Enea had shown up—but he had contributed to it.

He should have given her the time to change, just like he’d been given time and benefit of the doubt. Besides, he could give her the benefit of the doubt from a distance.

Yes. That seemed sensible.

Now, he only needed to make sure that hiding in his room to avoid her didn't start sounding too sensible. Maybe he should make himself a checklist of ideas that were actually sensible?

He turned around the corner, still deep on thought, but was jarred out of it immediately. Amaya was only a few meters away, hurrying somewhere. She hadn’t noticed him and- and it probably was for the better. She had every right not to want to speak with him ever again.

Except… if that was the case, she’d have told Tamid to stay away from him, wouldn’t she? Was he grasping at straws here? Or had he been hiding again, avoiding her because she might reject him completely?

The prospect seemed terrifying, true, but he realized something else. She didn’t know how afraid he was—in all likelihood, it looked like he just didn’t care enough about what he’d done.

So, he’d give it a try. He looked in the direction she’d gone in, and paused. But perhaps it would be better if he’d planed what he wanted to say first.

* * *

Amaya hadn’t actually talked to Iron-Eyes for some time now. She'd seen him around a few times, but he’d fled whenever he noticed her. Perhaps she should have approached him—but she had so many other things happening around her that something had to stay on the back burner.

And Berezi was there to make sure he was all right.

She hadn’t really expected Iron-Eyes to make the first step, but there he was, looking like a man there for his own execution.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you much earlier. And I should have apologized earlier, too.”

“It did give me time to breathe, and I do appreciate that,” Amaya said after a moment.

“Do you want me to stay away?” he asked hastily.

“No, that’s not what I want,” Amaya replied. “But I need to know you can handle me being upset with you. I wish I could say it will never happen again, but that’s not how life works.”

Iron-Eyes hesitated, but then he said, “I should, shouldn’t I? I survived until now, so that can’t be worse.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but he continued before she could reply. “I met your brother. Do you mind that I’ve been helping him?”

“No,” Amaya replied. “I’m sure Tamid can handle telling people he doesn’t want them around on his own.”

Truthfully, it was quite a relief that while her brother wasn’t the most talkative person she’d ever met, he clearly seemed capable of day to day interaction with others. That he joked, and that he had friends with him. The jokes may have been slightly odd, but they were recognizably jokes.

Iron-Eyes nodded, clearly uncertain what to say next, so Amaya added, “So you like him?”

“I guess?” Iron-Eyes replied. “He’s helpful. I’m not sure-“ He hesitated. “He’s not what I’d expect? But I guess it makes sense. He’s your brother, so he’s exceptional.”

“Thank you,” Amaya said. “But I don’t think that how he turned out has much to do with me. I wasn’t there for most of his life.”

“You were there for a while,” Iron-Eyes said. “That counts for a lot more than you might think. I mean, it’s not like I’ve known you for very long and you managed to help me change a lot.” He paused for a moment, seemingly considering what to say next. “And you both understand things about dealing with others I don’t.”

“Both of us?” Amaya asked, curious. “Did something happen?”

“Enea and I might have been rude to each other,” Iron-Eyes replied, turning red. “Tamid pointed out that if we stay civil to each other, we won’t have to worry about the other getting fed up with it and doing something drastic.”

Amaya wanted to say a number of things—that it was a bit terrifying that this was the argument that was convincing to the two; that she was proud of Tamid of defusing the situation…

“So you’re going to get along now?” she asked.

“I’ll try,” Iron-Eyes replied. “I probably should have thought of that myself, but it’s… difficult to think about anything sensible, if I think I’m threatened?”

“But you knew not to attack rakata when they threatened you,” Amaya pointed out. “I’m not saying that you ought to treat Enea like them, but you’re capable of evaluating who is an actual threat and who isn’t.”

Iron-Eyes nodded slowly. “You're right. I didn't think of that.”

“Sometimes, you need another person’s help to notice something,” Amaya replied. “Now come, you can tell me more about what you’ve been doing.”

* * *

Ters might not have been a healer, but he knew enough to teach another person the basics. His student was watching him, her smooth grey-blue face showing nothing at all. It probably was habit, given that hiding feelings from a Force sensitive was hard, and he could sense that she was anxious.

“Everyone can learn the basics,” he said. “I don’t know enough to give you a more advanced course, I’m afraid.”

Azhdaha smiled then, sharp teeth flashing for a moment. “My mother said that we used to have wise-women before the Infinite Empire came, who could perform miracles. But all that is gone now. They rounded up and killed them all first thing—they were not just healers, I guess, but probably spiritual leaders too, and those are dangerous.”

That was an odd sentiment at first. True, there were religious people in the Tythos system—his own parents had been religious like most Shikaakwans, but to think of the priests and priestesses as influential seemed odd. Odd until he remembered the Stargazers, and reminded himself that a lot of people saw Tythonians themselves as spiritual guides.

Besides, targeting healers meant that people would be forced to go to the doctors sanctioned by the rakata, giving away parts of their life to the state that used to belong only to them as a community.

“That’s an interesting observation,” he said. “Have you seen it happen?”

Azhdaha nodded. “They ran into some trouble here on Corellia—their religion isn’t very organized. I mean, they have larger prayer houses and such, but anyone can just walk in and do their stuff.”

“Or their priesthood is very well hidden,” Ters replied. He didn’t know either, of course. But he thought that it’d be very much like the people he’d met to just not bother with any ordained priesthood.

“I think we should go back to healing,” Azhdaha said. “What can you teach me?”

“First, I need to know what you can do,” Ters replied. “To be able to heal, you must be at peace with yourself. If you are conflicted, if your emotions rule you, then you won’t be able to heal.”

Azhdaha seemed to be puzzled by this. “That will make healing myself hard, won’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Ters replied. “It requires training, but it’s possible. I’m sure that you’ve heard that you are not your emotions?”

Azhdaha nodded. “Enea seems to find it very comforting.”

“She’s young,” Ters replied mildly, “and emotional. Knowing that she’s more than that is bound to be comforting.” Then, he motioned for Azhdaha to sit down. “Let’s try and find something that will put you into the right frame of mind.”

* * *

Azhdaha hadn’t considered herself someone easily distracted. True, her few attempts at meditating with Kha'vir had not gone that well, but she hadn’t thought they’d be worth the bother anyway. That had been a mistake, it seemed.

There was such a thing as useless knowledge, but what that meant was context-dependent. What you didn’t need to know in a court could be life-saving on the battlefield. What you didn’t need to know in a city could prove crucial outside of one.

And meditating was a stepping stone for healing.

“Why not pick Enea? She likes this stuff,” Azhdaha said.

“She didn’t volunteer,” Ters pointed out. “You did.”

“Good point,” Azhdaha laughed. “But I can’t seem to get the hang of this meditating thing.”

Ters stroked his chin for a moment. “Perhaps we should try it differently. We’ve been starting with breathing exercises—is this when it falls apart?”

“No, that’s pretty straightforward,” Azhdaha replied. “At least in the beginning. But then I keep starting to think about stuff, like how I’d like to scratch my nose…”

“That’s normal,” Ters replied. “It gets easier with practice. But perhaps instead of focusing on breathing try concentrating on visualizing a green triangle.”

Azhdaha nodded and closed her eyes obediently.

“Imagine it’s pointing downwards,” Ters said. “Consider what shade of green it is, and what type of a triangle it is—are the sides all of equal length? Is one side longer? Or perhaps the arms are the same length and the base is shorter?“

That seemed easier somehow, Azhdaha found. But eventually, she had to shift because her leg was falling asleep, and then her concentration broke.

“Oops,” she said sheepishly.

“It’s fine,” Ters said. “You will get better with practice—start with fifteen minutes a day and once you can manage that, you can make the period longer.”

“Do we have time for this?” Azhdaha asked. She didn’t know. It seemed like something she should master as soon as possible, but she simply saw no way to do it in what she thought would be a reasonable timeframe.

Ters nodded. “You can’t hurry some things. They will take as much time as they need to, regardless of how much of a hurry you're in. And all you can do is accept that.”

Azhdaha didn’t like that. Just accept things and give up? If she’d thought like that, she’d been one of the dead Force Hounds, wouldn’t she? Even if Amaya had freed her back during the attack on the temple, she wouldn’t have had the will to fight for herself.

“I’m not giving up,” she said stubbornly.

“And I’m not asking you to,” Ters said. “I’m asking you to practice at a reasonable pace. You want to be able to meditate without interruptions and not hate it completely, right?”

“Why would it ma-“ she started to say and then fell silent. “It’s the thing about being at peace, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Ters replied. “But perhaps, before we get there, we should go over what you believe it means to accept something?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Azhadaha asked. It seemed rather pointless to discuss commonly used words.

“Perhaps not,” Ters said. “Neither of us is using our native language, to start with. There may be some difference in nuance there. Secondly, if we have a definition, we can start working from it and find some other description that will not be upsetting to you.”

It still seemed a bit weird, but she supposed the part about language made sense. “Fine. I suppose accepting is when you decide that that’s just how things are and you can’t change them.”

Ters nodded. “And you think that’s bad?”

“Well, yes,” Azhdaha replied. “If accepted what my owner said about me needing punishment for helping others, then I’d have stopped doing that.”

Ters nodded. “Did you try to convince him that this was wrong?”

“No,” Azhdaha said, frowning. “He wouldn’t ever agree that I was right about that.”

“Then you had to accept that he was the kind of person who wouldn't help others, and find a way to work around that,” Ters pointed out. “Accepting something doesn’t mean that you stop doing anything. If you accept that something is too difficult for you, it doesn’t mean you have to give up on ever doing it—you can simply try to learn more about it, so that you can eventually safely do whatever it is that you're intending to do.”

“So, accepting is just one step and not doing anything is another?” Azhdaha mused. “I hadn’t thought about it like this. Or I’m dividing the situation into smaller pieces and pick and choose what I accept? And just because I accept one piece, it doesn’t mean I have to accept all the others.”

Come to think of it, she’d done so before. She couldn’t change all of the Infinite Empire—it was too big, and she had been only a slave. But she could do small things that would help others, and then those others could help more people, and maybe one day there’d be enough of them to do something bigger.

She’d just never thought of it in the terms of accepting things.


	6. Where The Remaining Rakata Decide They Are Screwed

Predor Vyln had known things he shouldn’t have ever learned. Secrets so dark that they had been intended to be buried and stricken from memory; secrets that would shake the foundations of the Infinite Empire.

Or well, one secret: sometimes, the Infinite Empire lost.

The thing about those failures had been that they were grand things. Monumental events. And those were hard to hide.

And Vyln might have stumbled over the proof of the first one, but the others he had collected, like precious stones or unique animals. He didn’t know what they’d be useful for—those who’d taken part in them were dead, but he enjoyed knowing things no one else did.

He’d never thought events such as this would be happening around him, though. Yet, here he was, listening to his Selonian counterpart quiver in fear of overgrown furry house pets, while his own forces were whispering tales of the various better-known members of the local rebellion.

He wasn’t going to pretend and call them terrorists—they’d stopped being that once they started winning.

“They leave uneaten bodies for us to find,” Shy’tar said. “It’s an insult—they don’t even think us strong enough to be eaten.”

“Perhaps it'd help if you stopped sending your people into their tunnels,” Vyln said. “Which they know, because they built them.”

“Am I supposed to sit and do nothing?” Shy’tar asked acidly. “I think not.”

“Suit yourself,” Vyln replied. “But don’t come crying to me when you lose more soldiers.”

“If you’d authorize a Flesh Raider strike-“ Shy’tar said, but Vyln shook his head.

“And who will get them out of the tunnels?” he asked. “They're not exactly cheap, and I won’t let you misplace any of them. You want to use them? Get the damn overgrown water-rodents on the surface.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” Shy’tar snorted. “Smoke them out?”

“Why not?” Vyln asked. “You’re supposedly a predor. Think of something!”

“Easy for you to say,” Shy’tar snorted. “Humans may have an overdeveloped pack-bonding instinct, but at least they're diurnal and prefer to live on the surface.”

Vyln scoffed. “Bah. They’ve weaponized pack-bonding,” he grumbled. “You kill one, and suddenly there’s a host of new recruits to take their place, because it was their cousin’s drinking companion or something equally inane.”

Shy’tar slumped then. “Look, between you and me, we’ve lost. Illai’s death and the massacre during his funeral made us look weak,” he said. “I’ve common soldiers defecting every day. Lryrr and Ashaa are reporting the same for their forces, and I can’t even raise the other colonies.”

It was treason, of course, to say anything like that. But who’d punish them for it? It wasn’t like either of them would execute themselves for stating the obvious.

“The last message we have from Agamar is that it’s in lockdown,” Vyln replied. “I told Illai we need more communication stations that can reach outside of the system, but he didn’t listen. And now we can’t even call for reinforcements.”

“So that’s it, isn’t it?” Shy’tar said. “We die.”

“Let’s make sure the bastards will remember our deaths for generations, then,” Vyln said. The Infinite Empire would bury any mention of him, but perhaps he’d live on in the memory of the peoples of this little system. It’d have to do.

* * *

The camp was in disarray. Even watching from a distance, Vev could tell that they would be moving somewhere else soon. More than that, the order had come unexpectedly. If it hadn’t, there’d be a lot less running and other mayhem.

“They’re killing their own soldiers,” Shae whispered. “How does that make sense?”

“It doesn’t,” Vev replied. “Not under the circumstances, but that’s the only way of maintaining discipline they know. Those people were likely caught trying to desert.”

Shae shook her head. “Why not just let them leave? They won’t be fighting either way, and the people doing the executions will be free for something else.”

“Because than more people might desert,” Vev replied. “The idea is to make them more afraid of you than the enemy or dying. I wonder which one this is?”

“What do you mean?” Shae asked.

“Well, the resistance here can’t really threaten them in an open battle yet,” Vev pointed out. “They can continue doing what they’ve been doing—catching their patrols and killing them, that sort of thing. It will eventually bleed the army out, but it wouldn’t cause such a number of deserters. A suicidal plan…”

“We need to go back,” Shae said, but Vev put her hand on Shae’s arm and shook her head.

“No,” she said. “They won’t move out today. And we need to find out as much as we can.”

“It’s not like-“ Shae said then looked towards the camp. “We should capture someone and bring them back for questioning.”

“Good thinking,” Vev agreed. “A sentry would be easiest.”

Someone else might know more, but they couldn't risk going into the camp, not during the day, and they would do best to head back before nightfall.

* * *

Kersh had a bad feeling about the current orders. It likely meant zhe should make zhimself scarce—zhim bad feelings generally tended to be quite accurate. Last time, zhe had been the only one to make it out alive, while the rest of zhim unit had been blown up.

Sadly, zhe didn’t see a way to leg it without getting caught. And that would warrant more than a bad feeling. Still, Kersh wasn’t about to give up. So, zhe had traded with Dnn and taken his shift as a sentry.

Zhim gut told zhim that it was a good idea.

Zhe only needed to get to a secluded spot and then make zhim way through the forest. Maybe to the sea? There were caves in the cliffs. Zhe could hide in one for a while and live off the fish for some time.

A cluster of bushes and trees looked promising—it was surrounded by something with tall leaves. If zhe crawled, zhe could probably get away safely.

Zhe almost didn’t notice the dathomirian woman hidden between the plants. Only when zhe got very close did zhe notice a pair of violet eyes. A small hand gestured, and a lovely, girlish voice said, “You want to come with me.”

Kersh nodded. It seemed like a good idea. The woman before zhim was dathomirian, so likely some sort of special agent. She’d know what to do. Maybe she was there-

What was zhe thinking? A dathomirian special agent only meant trouble for a common foot soldier like Kersh. Zhe should… Well, it’s not like zhe had a choice.

“I’ll be good,” Kersh said quickly, as the woman watched zhim with a frown.

“You’re Force Sensitive,” she said. “Barely so, but it’s enough.”

Kersh froze, zhim eyes wide. Another hand landed on zhim shoulder and zhe let zhimself be led away, too terrified to run in search of safety.

* * *

Catching the sentry had turned out to be both easier and more complicated than Shae had expected. They were a selkath with greyish blue skin, speckled with darker blue dots, and they were petrified of her and Vev. They had also managed to shake off Vev’s mind-trick.

Leading the blindfolded selkath back would be awkward, but they were an enemy soldier who'd given no indication they could be trusted.

“You’re not reinforcements, are you?” they asked, after a while.

“What gave you that idea?” Vev replied. Shae had remained silent—she’d managed to learn enough Low Rakatan from Tamid and Vev to be able to follow the conversation, but she was nowhere clear being able to convincingly talk in it.

“Well, you’re dathomirian and you’re not Force Hounds,” the prisoner replied. “That means you’re here because the Dictator of Dathomir wants something.”

“What an interesting theory,” Vev said blandly. At least, Shae thought she’d said “theory”. She decided to ask later, and point out that the word she’d want to use in the future was “hypothesis”—some people, like Daegen, tended to get obnoxiously nit-picky.

OK, maybe she was as nit-picky as Daegen was about theory versus hypothesis.

“Look, I don’t know anything,” their prisoner continued. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“Poor dear,” Vev said, “you think we’ll hurt you, don’t you?”

Their prisoner went silent for a moment, radiating confusion and suspicion.

“Come now, we all know it’d be pointless,” Vev continued. “We can both sense that you’re telling the truth—you think you don’t know anything. Perhaps you know more than you realize, but if we hurt you, you won’t be thinking about that. Besides, you’ll want to lie to us just so that we stop.”

Their prisoner was no less puzzled, but they did seem to calm down a bit.

“What do you want from me?” they asked, their voice trembling slightly.

“You’ll find out in time,” Vev said. It clearly wasn’t reassuring for their prisoner, but then Shae didn’t think there was much she or Vev could do about that. In the end, the decision what to do with the prisoner lay with the Corellian resistance.

* * *

Alia watched the prisoner—she couldn’t read their expression very well, given that she was unfamiliar with the species, but the tension in their posture spoke of anxiety, at the very least. She wasn’t surprised. The prisoner—Kersh—knew very little. Certainly not the answers to the most pressing questions.

“So, you were supposed to march here?” she asked, indicating a settlement on the map. It was an odd choice—the place was some distance from Coronet City and as far as Alia knew had nothing special about it. No particular industry, other than a few spots for tourists.

“Yes,” Kersh replied. “I don’t know why.”

Alia glanced at Vev, who nodded minutely.

“You didn’t hear anyone higher-ranking than you talking about it?” Alia asked, and Kersh shook their head.

“No,” they said. “No one knew why we were supposed to march there. It’s not a good place for staging an attack on Coronet City or a better place for a camp. We thought the predor snapped, but…”

“But you didn’t think there were enough of you to take on one rakata?” Alia pointed out drily.

“What’s the point?” Kersh replied. “They’d just replace him with a new one. At least this one is a known quantity.”

“And what do you know about him?” Alia asked. They could argue about complacency all day long and accomplish nothing, or she could focus on a line of questioning that'd give the resistance something useful.

Well. They weren’t just a resistance anymore, were they? Not now that they were winning.

Kersh shrugged. “He’s no different than most predors—he’s smart enough to have gotten to his position without getting assassinated, cruel enough to be able to enforce obedience but not so cruel that people would rebel against him. He doesn’t exactly talk with the rank and file.”

“But he does talk with other officers, and they, in turn must talk with soldiers,” Alia pointed out.

Kersh nodded. “He’s interested in history. His Force Hound keeps his writings with her at all times.”

“And what can you tell me about the Force Hound?” Alia asked. Perhaps they could repeat what they’d managed with Azhdaha?

“Creepy little thing,” Kersh replied. “Not much else. It’s not like I’d want to talk with her—she’d likely repeat everything to her predor, and I don’t particularly care for him to know I exist, let alone what I think.”

* * *

As obvious as their blood relation was, Tamid found that he and Amaya were different, and not just in obvious ways such as age and gender. Some probably would have always been there—things related to different combinations of genes and hormonal differences, and different types of sensitivity to the Force, while others were matters of upbringing and experience.

“It’s obvious to you,” he said, as he circled Amaya his ‘saber in a low guard. She was tracking his movements, her own ‘saber held loosely in one hand. It wasn’t her main weapon—the question was what was. “You were brought up surrounded by people who more or less want to achieve the same goal.”

There. An opening.

He struck out, only for Amaya to parry his strike—not with ease or with grace, but effectively. He used the momentum to dive under her guard and kick at her leg, left extended by the attack.

She rolled away, pushing him away with the Force.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But even rakatan society is built on cooperation.”

“That no one admits is happening,” he replied. Amaya jumped, swinging her ‘saber downwards—not a bad tactic for a Force-blind opponent, but he had an easy counter. He simply pushed back at her with the Force.

She twisted gracefully in the air and landed some distance away.

“You swing the ‘saber like an axe,” he said. “It’s a sword.”

“I’ve not noticed, little brother,” she said with a grin. “Thank you for enlightening me.”

He felt her presence in the Force brush against his mind—a gentle touch, quite natural between siblings—and then she copied his position, down to the low guard.

“Iron-Eyes fights differently,” she said.

“I’d imagine,” he said. “He’s shorter than us, smaller and lighter. Probably weaker physically too. And he projects his emotions all the time—that's bound to be annoying.”

“It’s more than that,” Amaya replied in a carefully neutral tone. “He can get into your head and make you experience your worst nightmares.”

The part of him that still thought like a Force Hound noted that it explained how someone so timid had ended up serving a predor. Then, he wondered how different the skill would have been if Iron-Eyes had been trained outside of the Infinite Empire.

“Somehow, I don’t see him succeeding with you,” Tamid said.

“It’s easy enough to block, if you know how to keep yourself at peace,” she replied still in the same carefully neutral tone. It was bothering her, he guessed, and she didn’t want to show it. And then, she exhaled, and her Force presence was again clear and unreadable like the diamond she hid in her vest.

There was her true weapon—it was herself. In that moment, she reminded him of Garon, and he almost yielded there and then. But that wasn’t the point. She'd asked for a spar to learn more, not to prove superiority.

So, instead, he jumped into action. She could probably predict most of his attacks and likely parry them, but if he was quick enough-

And all of a sudden, he was on his back, looking up at a green ‘saber blade inches away from his nose. Then, Amaya deactivated it, and reached out to him with her free hand. He took it, and let her help him up.

“Easy to block for you or not, it bothers you,” Tamid said, as he dusted off his clothes. “Why? He was taught to use a skill he has as a weapon. It’s not different than you exploiting one of those weak points you’ve told me about.”

“That’s not what bothers me,” Amaya replied. “What bothers me is that he didn’t tell me about it.”

Tamid stared. He had clearly wandered into those weird areas of conversation that required things like tact and people skills, and all of those things one gained through interacting with other people in ways other than glaring or stabbing them. In short, he was clearly out of his depth, and he only had himself to blame for probing the depths of social interaction.

“So… you didn’t notice when he did it?” he eventually asked.

“Not particularly, no,” Amaya said. “That’s not the point though. The point is that he never told me he could do it, until we found out from another source. He had quite a lot of time to say something.” Then, she reached out and touched his cheek with her hand. “It’s all right, little brother. You don’t have to talk me through my problems.”

“Was it at least helping?” Tamid asked. “Because if it was, I can pretend I’ve a clue what I’m doing.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Amaya answered. “Here you are, freshly reunited with me and unafraid to challenge me on my actions.”

Tamid shrugged then. “At worst, you will be angry with me. You won’t disappear or die because of that. You won’t hit me or try to murder me for making you angry.”

“I could still refuse to talk with you,” Amaya pointed out gently.

“I don’t think so,” Tamid replied. “Because if you did, either I’d have to have told you that… I don’t know… killing babies is good? or you’d have to be a different person than you are. So, you’re going to have to live with me trying to come up with advice for you when you’re upset. It might eventually even be useful.”

“I guess I have to let you practice until you feel confident in your advice-giving skills, then,” Amaya replied with a grin.


	7. Where the Problem of Visions Returns

There was power in suffering, in anger, in fear and in pain. Those were some of the earliest lessons on the Force that any rakatan child learned. Vyln had been no different—he’d learned to use his strongest emotions and sensations to fuel his command of the Force early on. And as he journeyed, he’d found other secrets.

Well, secrets for a given value of secret.

What went wrong during the conquest of Korriban had been documented. The inhabitants had managed to gather in one place, and by committing ritual suicide had poisoned their world. It was still useful after a fashion, due to its strong presence in the Force, but it was also a wasteland not worth colonizing. Only someone truly desperate or insane would try eking out a living there now.

Vyln didn’t possess a whole planet ready to commit ritual suicide on his order, but he had an army. Perhaps not all of them would die for him, but they would die for something. That, or their comrades would murder them.

But mere murder and suicide wouldn’t be enough. If it had been, then the slaughter committed during every conquest would invariably poison any world. Oh, there’d be echoes in places—battlefields that were supposedly haunted or caves that showed you your fears, but by and large, mere death wasn’t enough.

What was needed was will.

And so, Vyln took to meditating on his task, so that once it came to fruition, he’d be strong enough to strike a blow to the planet and its inhabitants.

His eyes closed, he focused on his anger at the fact that he’d die and the fear the prospect of death and defeat brought. The suffering of knowing he'd die a failure stoked his anger into a white-hot core of power at the very center of him. He could feel power suffusing him, as he went through a litany of regrets, fears and slights that’d fuel him in his coming task.

Yes. He’d leave a mark on this world. Even if his name would be forgotten, his action would forever taint a part of Corellia, and so he’d have his revenge.

* * *

Once upon a time, Corellia had a military. Not because there had been any large conflicts with Selonia, Drall or any of the colonies on the other worlds. It had been more as insurance in case any large conflict did break out. Humans possessed enough self-awareness to realize that conflict was part of their existence.

As insurance went, it had proven to be woefully insufficient.

A few officers had survived and joined the planetary resistance movement. Some soldiers had done likewise. They had trained volunteers in what they could, but all of it had been guerilla fighting. A prolonged battle would be an almost sure path to defeat.

Which meant that the options the resistance had to stop the rakatan forces from whatever their objective was were limited. They’d sent several cells to harry the marching army, and several others to lay traps, but in the end, Alia was under no illusion that they’d be able to stop the army.

And Thel would undoubtedly push for a battle to take place anyway. He wouldn’t be the only one tempted by the idea—a clear-cut end to the invaders would appeal to many.

“This is absolutely out of question,” Betl said. “You and what army? We’ve only so many people, very few actual soldiers and-“

“What about the defectors?” Thel asked. “There’ve been plenty. Shouldn’t they show that they’re loyal to us now?”

“They defected precisely because they don’t want to fight,” Alia said.

“So we should do nothing?” Nour asked irritably.

“Of course not,” Betl said. “Evacuation is under way.”

“And then they will find another place to attack and another,” Thel countered. “Until they finally manage to call for reinforcements.”

“I am not giving you any of my people,” Alia said, “so that they can get killed.”

“Alia,” Thel said, “don’t you see? We need to end the threat. We can’t hope to keep whittling them down. Especially not if they’re planning something.”

“We need to even out the odds some more,” Alia protested. “The evacuation will take everyone out of danger before the rakata get there.”

“Except for the people who won’t leave their homes,” Nour said. “There’s always someone like that.”

Betl shook her head. “We can’t save those that don’t want to be saved.”

Thel pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re getting this backwards. Do we have any ideas, any ideas at all, as to why this predor wants to go to this particular place? It’s completely unimportant strategically.”

Alia rested her chin on her unscarred hand as she considered the answer. “The only answer I’m coming up with is that they want to commit some atrocity to spread terror. They’ve chosen this settlement precisely because it’s unimportant—they want to show that no one is safe.”

our chewed on zher lower lip, then shook zher head. “I can’t see any other reason for them to head there. In which case, it may in fact be more prudent to simply evacuate the population and harry them.”

Now outnumbered, Thel sighed. “I have no other option but to agree.”

Alia breathed out. “Let’s consider what we can do and start planning a time frame for when we need to face the rakatan loyalists.”

* * *

Tamid was feeling uneasy but couldn’t think of a reason why. Which was likely bad news, because that meant the Force was trying to tell him something and being unhelpful about it.

Not that a vision would prove any more useful, going by what Daegen had to say about them. Apparently, he’d had a total of one that was immediately understandable and useful, and everything else had been cryptic and only useful once he had waited for more to happen.

Amaya had claimed that their ancestors were speaking to them through the Force, sharing their wisdom with them. If that was the case, Tamid had to say they really weren’t doing a very good job of it.

Tul’kar had claimed it was gods that spoke through the Force. That Tamid had almost believed, because almost all rakatan gods were unhelpful dicks, so them sending vague feelings that only made sense after someone tried to stab Tul’kar during a walk was perfectly in character for them.

Or maybe the problem was just that since the theoretical ghosts of his ancestors worked through the Force, which according to Daegen at least, didn’t have a sense of time and saw it as an amorphous past-potential-present blob, where the past, potential and present shifted places. Most sentient brains didn’t evolve to perceive time like that, so the translation failed.

But then, he’d never sensed anything like a personal presence when he had those feelings, and he had to wonder if that meant that Amaya was wrong about the whole ancestor thing. He did want to believe in it, but… but he wanted to believe in it because it was something she believed in.

And that probably wasn’t a good reason.

So no. He’d stick to what he felt was closest to the truth—the Force, like the universe, and like plants, simply was. Neither good nor evil, neither benevolent nor malevolent. It was a living thing, but not a creature. It had something like a will, and this was what he was feeling. It wanted him to know something, but his talents lay in other skills, so all he got was a vague bad feeling.

Still, if he was having a bad feeling, then it was likely that someone might have a more accurate one, so Tamid had first asked Shae, Vev and Amaya. Out of the three, only Amaya admitted having the same generalized vague bad feeling as Tamid. Which meant further asking.

Iron-Eyes, despite what one might have expected, was able to say that he was having a bad feeling about something else besides himself. Tamid even spoke to Azhdaha, the noghri Force Hound, who also had an equally unspecific bad feeling as everyone else.

And then, he found Enea hiding in the field, because that was the logical place to hide, rather than a dark corner. Though, he supposed, he’d not have thought one might hide there, so it had that going for it.

He probably should have gone back and gotten Shae, or at least someone who knew how to deal with that, but Shae _wasn’t_ the one with a general bad feeling or the one who felt compelled to run around and ask people having them. Besides, Enea might run away somewhere else.

So, he sat down in front of Enea and waited for her to say something. The corn rustled around them, as it went about drawing nutrients from the ground. He could sense a few tenacious weeds fight to reach the sun, between the tall stalks. The corn didn’t like them, for a plant-like value of ‘like’, but Tamid did. He liked corn too, to be fair, even if it was terribly needy and uniform, but it had been made so to suit the needs of those growing it. The weeds still just were.

“Um, don’t mind, I just had one of my stupid bad dreams,” she muttered eventually. “My- my master wanted me to tell them all to him, because they sometimes come true. Or not. I’ve had… a million or so of myself dying in various duels, but I never did.”

“I have this one where I see Amaya die,” Tamid said. “It changed over the years—before it was me watching and me killing her, and then after a while on Tython it was my owner. It happens less often now, but it keeps coming back.”

“Um, I’ve those too,” Enea said. “I mean, ones that are just bad and come back, and back, and back. But it’s just about me getting injured and having to fight.” She shuddered. “I don’t really like fighting, even.”

“That makes two of us,” Tamid replied. “I used to even not want to practice, because I thought I wouldn’t be able to control myself and just kill someone on instinct.” He shrugged.

Enea managed a pale smile then. “I don’t think I’m that good. Or bad. Or whatever that qualifies as. I mean… my master didn’t really get me because I was any better than the others. I just had those dreams and could get myself out of trouble, or stay out of it.” She pulled her knees to her chest. “And this one doesn’t even make much sense. There’s just this… empty village? In ruins? And this woman with white eyes in a robe talking to someone. Except they’re talking in Basic.”

Tamid nodded. “Do you want to talk about that more?”

“Well, the woman feels kind of… hm… you know like some rakata feel less of mine-mine-mine and more like I-just-don’t-care-about-anything-but-myself? And the kneeling person just feels empty. Like they’re a hole in the Force.”

Tamid frowned. “Do you recognize the place? Is it here on this planet or somewhere else?”

“I don’t know,” Enea replied, her expression pensive.

“You know, whatever that is is probably important. Except I can’t tell you how. Daegen—my teacher—might, but he’s on Tython. Maybe we should take you there.” Tamid frowned. “Or ask Ters. He has visions too, he might have some ideas.”

* * *

Ters probably should have expected to end up as the authority on matters of the Force, given that he was the only one to attain Masterhood. That he had focused mostly on visual art didn’t change the fact that as a Lesser Master, he still had to be able to explain matters of the Force to others.

So, he had listened to Tamid and Enea explain about her vision and the almost collective unease among the Force sensitives in Coronet City.

“The problem with visions like the one you describe is a lack of context,” he said eventually. “We don’t know if it’s symbolic, or an event to come, and if the latter, when.”

“So it’s useless,” Enea sighed deflating visibly.

“We don’t know,” Ters replied. “It might be useless to us, but it may end up being useful a few generations in the future.”

“Or not,” Tamid pointed out. “There’s too much that could happen between now and this possible future for us to be able to guess with any accuracy how useful this vision will be to anyone in the future.”

“It can’t be on Corellia,” Enea said finally. “Or at least, on Corellia now. We’d all be sensing the void-person.” She breathed out a sigh of relief, and then almost immediately tensed again. “Sorry about wasting your time. It’s clearly not related to what everyone else is sensing, and whatever it is-“

She stopped again, and took a breath. Someone seemed to have taught her a meditation technique involving breathing, since she continued for at least two minutes.

“What I mean is—since the void-person isn’t on Corellia or near Corellia, there is no point in worrying about my vision,” Enea said. “There’s probably something else happening right now and my vision is unrelated.”

“Or is a result of whatever will happen,” Ters said, as he scratched his chin. “You’re right that we shouldn’t _worry_ over your vision—or any vision. The future is uncertain, and a vision might equally be a blessing or a curse, depending if we let it control us or not. But that doesn’t mean we should just let it be. There is something important about this event, and Tamid’s idea to send you to Tython has merit. At the very least, recording it in a safe location won’t hurt.”

Enea nodded slowly. “I guess? And um… maybe someone from Corellia or one of the other planets will want to come to ask for help, or something.” She paused. “Do you mind if I suggest that? In case they think I need watching or something.”

“Because otherwise you will flee to the Infinite Empire, into the embrace of the nearest Force Hound-less officer, because that’s such fun?” Tamid commented dryly.

“Ew,” Enea said wrinkling her nose. “No, that’s gross.”

“Thank you, Tamid,” Ters said. He remembered enough of his interactions with Daegen to realize this was a good point to signal—preferably using a large red flag—that enough humour for now. “Enea did make a good point, though. Your compatriots ought to be informed some of us will be leaving and that we’d like to take Enea with us.”

* * *

The moment Ters Sendon explained Enea's vision and the plan of action to her, Amaya knew she should be the one to go. It wasn’t that she thought the girl would try to escape, or that it was a secret plot of any kind, but the idea that someone ought to go along and petition for more help was a good one.

“I’d like to come with you,” she said. “With your permission, Alia. I’d speak for us—we could use any help their system can spare.”

Alia nodded slowly—not yet in assent, but merely in thought. “I don’t know if I can spare you.”

“I might be useful here, but you can give my tasks to others and they will be able to perform them,” she said. “But you need _me_ to speak on our behalf.”

“We can only take four people,” Shae Koda said then. “If we take you, Tamid and Enea, then we will have to leave Vev and Ters here. One of them could take over for you.”

“That is very generous of you,” Alia said. “I see your point, Amaya. You may go. I trust you will know what to say when the time is right.”

Neither of them had mentioned why Amaya had volunteered, but they both knew. If a moment came where she could make an argument that’d tip things into her favour, she’d know it had come and would hopefully knew what to say to seize it.

There was another reason, similarly unremarked-upon but obvious to them both. Amaya had also volunteered because she wanted to spend more time with Tamid. The reasons she’d stated were not just excuses, but she wasn’t going to lie to herself and pretend that this had not been a factor in her decision.

“Have you ever been on a space ship?” Shae Koda asked, once they left Alia’s new office. Now that Coronet City was no longer under rakatan occupation, she’d moved to an actual building—they all had. It was strange, living permanently on the surface after so much time spent in the tunnels.

“No,” she said.

“Well, then don’t worry,” Shae laughed, “it’s perfectly safe, barring something going catastrophically wrong.”

“Just trust the space-tentacle-whales to get you where they ought to,” Tamid added with a wry grin.

“Well, they have brains, unlike a rakatan space ship, right?” Shae pointed out. “That’s definitely more trust-worthy than a computer.”

“That’s a pretty good point,” Enea said. “We had all the droids on my owner’s ship glitch at one point and start stabbing walls. And the other time, the computer corrupted all messages into gibberish.”

Amaya shook her head. “That doesn’t seem very conducive to conquest.”

“It’s not,” Tamid replied with a shrug. “But asking purrgils to take you anywhere means you actually have to try to communicate with them rather than shooting them on sight.”

Enea gasped. “Wait, you… you what?”

“They’re really nice,” Shae Koda said. “Tamid was a bit wary of them too, and so was Vev, but they both got over it.”

“They had an opportunity to eat me and didn’t,” Tamid said.

“That’s not a very high standard to keep someone up to,” Enea pointed out. “I didn’t eat you either.”

“You didn’t have an opportunity,” Tamid said, and then gave Shae a puzzled look when she started laughing. Enea, in turn, had covered her mouth with her hand, and seemed to be dying of embarrassment.


	8. Where Everyone Has a Bad Feeling About This

Amaya liked purrgils. Sure, they were huge, but they were also surprisingly playful, and she was quite sure they were sentient. Shae was just as enthusiastic about them, cooing to them as she gave them directions through the Force.

She and Tamid had sat down and clasped hands. Tamid had closed his eyes, and she could sense him reach out into the Force, before Shae did the same. And then she had started cooing at the purrgils.

Eventually one of them approached the ship, and wrapped its tentacles gently around it. Enea yelped at that point and hid her face in her hands. Amaya reached out to put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, but stopped herself. It probably wasn’t a good idea to touch Enea when she couldn’t see it, so instead she whispered, “It’s OK.”

“Tell me when we’re in hyperspace,” Enea said.

“How will-“ Amaya started to say, when all of a sudden the stars blurred around them into lines. It was… weird. She had no other way to describe it—it was out of her frame of reference completely.

“We’re in hyperspace,” Tamid said matter-of-factly. “But you can keep your eyes closed, if you’d rather not know how we die, if we do die.”

“What does knowing change?” Enea asked, but she let her hands fall. “I mean, you’ll be dead.”

“Nothing,” Tamid replied with a shrug. “But you’ll die with the knowledge that you looked your death in the face. Or teeth. Or tentacles.”

“Don’t be so positive, little brother,” Amaya said with a laugh. “Someone might think you’re becoming an optimist.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” Shae said, grinning. “He’ll glare at anyone with silly ideas like that. He’s really good at glaring.”

“You’re jealous because you can only do angry glares,” Tamid said, as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair.

Enea had her face in her hands again and moaned. It was rather theatrical, so Amaya figured she was probably fine, just exasperated. The type of humour that seemed to come easiest to Tamid wasn’t exactly for everyone.

“Oh, I’m sure that by now I can copy quite a lot of your glares,” Shae replied with a grin. “Now, how about we go over the safety procedures once more?”

* * *

Enea didn’t like space travel. Once upon a time, she’d known a pilot—a slave like her, though not Force sensitive. He’d been fourteen when she met him, and still in training. He’d died two years later of bloodburn. Enea’s master had said it happened sometimes to slave pilots and shrugged it off.

Still, she couldn’t exactly avoid space travel, and besides, she wanted to go to the other planet and talk with someone who had visions too. Well, Ters Sendon also had them, and she’d have liked to talk some more with him about it, too—he was nice and didn’t make jokes she didn’t get.

Which brought her to Tamid, who was also mostly nice, except when he started joking. Then he was weird, because he either acted serious when telling them or made them about things like dying, or being a slave. Then again, it wasn’t like Enea had much of an idea about what was funny to humans—Amaya seemed to enjoy all of those jokes, and so did Shae. And Vev had liked them as well.

Maybe it was just her, and she just didn’t have a sense of humour?

“Is everything OK?” Shae asked.

“Yes!” Enea said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s not fine, that’s moping,” Tamid commented, as he checked something on the nav computer.

“Well, I don’t like space travel, but that’s just thinking stuff, not me actually feeling bad,” Enea pointed out. Then, after a moment she said. “Physically bad, because I’m sick. And you can’t make me like it, so I just have to wait until we’ve landed.”

“We could do something you enjoy though,” Amaya pointed out, “to distract you.”

Which would have been nice, but it was also weird. She should at least do something in return, unless maybe it was because her moping was annoying them? They didn’t seem to be annoyed, though.

“Or we can go into why people do nice things for other people without expecting things in return and how this makes the Infinite Empire terrible,” Tamid said. “It’s up to you.”

Enea opened her mouth to say that this would probably be a better idea, but then she closed it without saying anything. She could have Tamid, Amaya, and Shae explain everything to her, and it’d be nice and easy, and she’d then still feel weird because they were being nice to her for nothing.

“Or I could try to figure it out on my own, and you can tell me if I’m right,” she said after a moment.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” Tamid said.

“So,” she said and fell silent. “It… makes you feel nice?”

“There is that,” Amaya said warmly, which made Enea feel a bit better about sounding silly. She knew that had sounded silly.

“And… and if people do nice stuff for you, even if they don’t want anything else from you, you still want to do nice things for them,” she said after a moment. “And then they want to do nice things—and… and then you have people helping each other all the time, rather than letting you suffer, and… oh. People are nice to each other for no reason, because that makes for a world that’s a nice to live in for everyone.”

She shifted a bit. “But it doesn’t make it any less weird when you’re being nice to me. I mean, knowing all that.”

“And how long have you not been a Force Hound?” Tamid asked. “You’re used to things being conditional now since that’s how it’s been for you for years. Of course you’ll feel weird now that it’s different.”

“Do you feel like that too?” Enea asked. He’d been a Force Hound before too, after all.

Tamid shrugged. “Sometimes. Back when I came to Tython, I needed instructions with illustrations and arrows, though.”

“You didn’t need arrows for card games,” Shae said with a smile. “Speaking of which—we’ve time for a round or two.”

* * *

The town had been abandoned. Well, mostly. His scouts had found a few stubborn locals: two old men and a woman, hiding in their houses. Everyone else had left. Vyln had to admit he was disappointed. Clearly, the locals must have found out where he was headed—but not his actual plan, since they continued to merely ambush his forces. It had whittled down his numbers, true, but not to such a degree that he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his purpose.

“You know what will happen if our enemies catch up with us,” he said, watching what was left of his army. He still needed devices to amplify his voice to speak to them. “You know what will happen "if the Infinite Empire has to come and save us from our own incompetence. There’s only one way out.”

The first row turned around and shot the second at his words, and all semblance of order broke down. The soldiers were shooting and trampling each other. A glancing shot grazed Vyln’s arm, but he stood his ground.

His Force Hound was standing next to him, taking all the anger and fear into herself and feeding it to Vyln. It was… perverse, he had to say—they were no longer separate beings at this point, but rather a blend of two minds.

No, more than that. Each and every soldier was now part of Vyln. He died with each of them, he bled and suffered, and raged with them, until it was too much. With a cry he released the Force, lightning arcing out of his body.

His Force Hound fell at his feet, body smoking as the Force drained the life out of her.

Then, Vyln couldn’t see anything more either. For a moment, he thought he felt the ground under him, and then, there was darkness.

* * *

Iron-Eyes dropped his needle and covered his mouth with his hand, biting it to hold back the scream building up in his throat.

He was used to sensing death—it was common enough at Illai’s court. True, none of those had been massacres, and he was fairly certain this had been one, but there was something more about it than just death, pain, fear and anger. There was something about it that made him feel sick, like a slow-acting poison injected into his bloodstream.

He looked around, trying to locate the source of this sensation—it was somewhere on Corellia, that much he was sure of. In fact, he was reasonably certain he could easily find the place, though he very much didn’t want to do that.

A moment later, the door opened and Kha’vir peered inside, her expression both confused and terrified. It was a sight he hadn’t expected to ever see—the rakatan noblewoman had always seemed quite unflappable to him.

“What was that that just happened?” she asked.

“A lot of people died, violently,” Iron-Eyes replied, as he rubbed his hand. “And there’s something more, but I don’t know what it is. It felt… It felt a bit like Korriban, now that I think about it.”

“Korriban?” Kha’vir asked, sounding even more confused. “But it’s a dead world. Why would you feel it in the Force at all?”

Iron-Eyes hesitated—it had never occurred to him that he might know more of the history of the Infinite Empire than her. She was a noblewoman, after all, and he’d been a slave. But she was also rakata, and that meant she’d never been taught how to sense things in the Force, beyond whatever rudimentary skill she’d have developed on her own. And that meant no one needed to explain Korriban to her at all.

Not that anyone had explained Korriban to Iron-Eyes in any great detail either. “You can sense an echo of whatever happened there,” he said. “But since it’s an echo, you just know it was bad.”

“Differently bad than people dying violently?” Kha’vir asked.

Iron-Eyes nodded.

“And something like that happened here?” she asked again.

Iron-Eyes nodded again, waiting for her to get to whatever conclusion she was heading towards.

“Come,” she said. “We need to talk to everyone else Force sensitive and decide what to do.”

* * *

Vev seemed to be much more affected by whatever happened than Ters was, which he supposed made sense—she’d been trained to sense danger and emotions that could indicate someone is about to attack: fear, anger, hate… And there had been a moment when the Force had been screaming with all of those.

“I’m fine,” she said, but she was gripping his hand pretty tightly. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him realize that her size belied her strength.

“It’s OK,” he said, squeezing her hand back. “I won’t think less of you, if you’re upset.”

“I’m not,” Vev said after a moment. “I mean, in the sense of being sad—I didn’t recognize anyone. I didn’t even sense anything specific to one person, so I don’t have anything to anchor the feeling to. It was more like suddenly tripping and hitting my head against the wall.” She frowned then. “All right, maybe I am a bit upset. It was unpleasant.”

“It was,” Ters said. “We should find out what happened.”

Vev looked up at him then and giggled. It was somewhat shaky, but she managed to say fondly, “That’s so like you to be curious about everything. It’s probably something horrible.”

“That doesn’t mean we should pretend nothing happened,” Ters pointed out. “Ignorance can be dangerous.”

Vev sighed. “You’re probably right. But… just be ready for something horrible.”

“I’m not a delicate flower, Vev,” Ters said gently.

“No, but you’re nice and kind,” Vev replied. “And that means whatever it is, it will upset you, and then I’ll be upset too—and I don’t want you to feel bad over something that’s not your fault.” She gave him a crooked smile then. “But you will anyway, won’t you? I am treating you like a delicate flower.”

“You can’t protect me from everything, Vev,” Ters said.

Vev sighed then. “I know. I know I shouldn’t try, because it’s impossible, and so on, but it’s difficult. I mean, it’s not like I say to myself ‘today I will fret that Ters might be upset’ or ‘today I will worry Shae Koda will be eaten by one of her pets’ or- OK, I actually don’t worry about Tamid.”

“And why is that?” Ters asked.

“Because I know he’ll survive everything, and probably make smart-ass comments about it,” Vev said.

“Will it help if I do that?” Ters asked with a smile.

“No, because you can’t do Tamid-comments,” Vev said with a sigh. “Besides, Shae does that too, and I still worry about her.” She paused and added, “And it’s not because we’re both Force Hounds—I worry about Garon.”

“I can’t say I know him at all, but he seems quite capable of dealing with just about everything,” Ters said.

“It’s not logical,” Vev said after a moment. “Tamid is younger than you or me, but… I just know he’s going to be fine. I don’t know the same about you. I don’t know why I know he’ll be fine.”

“You will figure it out,” Ters said. “But I think for now, we need to investigate what happened.”

Vev was still holding onto his hand when they headed out to find the other Force sensitives, and Ters wasn’t about to point it out to her. If she drew comfort from it, he was glad to provide it.

* * *

Azhdaha probably shouldn't have expected the rakata to do anything sensible in the current situation. The Infinite Empire didn’t teach its elites how to deal with losing a war, after all, and so a dramatic, if futile, gesture seemed like an obvious conclusion. At least in retrospect.

That said, she had no proof that what she’d sensed had been a futile gesture. It was an educated guess.

“That seems like a reasonable assumption,” Rhys said. “It’d help if either of us knew… who was in charge by now?”

“I think it was predor Vyln,” she replied. “My owner talked with him once or twice. He seemed like most other predors—full of himself and kind of paranoid.”

“In which case, your guess that he’d do something futile and dramatic seems reasonable,” Rhys said. He shook his head. “He made sure no one had to kill him for losing.”

“It’s almost sad,” Azhdaha replied, as she adjusted the sleeve of her shirt. “How they are so afraid of each other that they will commit suicide to avoid facing up to their failure and an uncertain future. Except this one seems to have taken a lot of other people with him.”

“Do you think it could be something else?” Rhys asked.

Azhdaha shook her head. “No. Nothing else would explain what I sensed in the Force. It had to be something a rakata did, likely fueled by all those deaths.”


End file.
